John Burridge

Workout:  Sunday morning I managed to get to the gym.  Mark calls it "The Old Folks Gym," and he's kind of right.  This was my first time in on a Sunday morning, and the folks there weren't necessarily old, but they did have a kind of focused earnestness about them that folks who are there for their health (as opposed to being there to look good naked) have.  I quite freely admit that I'm there so I can look good naked.

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Feb 20, 2008.  A CUUPs ritual was planned for the full moon eclipse.  Although I voiced my suspicions, no one confirmed that the full moon would be visible from the church site.   Five minutes before the eclipse began, one other person appeared.  We looked for the moon, but it was below a near-by hill.  Ten minutes later, as I was leaving to go watch the eclipse with my family, a third person appeared and wondered why I was leaving.

Later, I hooked up with Mark and The Child at the Eugene Reservoir, where the Eugene Astronomy club had set up telescopes.  After my family left,  I watched the dark moon and harped for it and for the people milling around the telescopes.  Most folks appreciated the gesture for the gift it was, and I can't think of nicer (if laid back) public ritual.


June 2008.  Savoré closed completely.  The retail store closed and the web store as well.  Even after almost three years, we still hadn't found a replacement.


September 2008.  Suddenly, The Child was Ready for Preschool.  The clingy days were over.  Mark would come home from work and the two of us would be sitting on the couch, looking straight ahead and not making eye-contact, waiting for Mark to step through the door.

We asked around for preschool recommendations, and the next thing I knew, I was touring a preschool connected to a church.  Little "Gee, these folks are Extra Religious" alarm-bells were going off in my head, but I kept telling myself that some pretty cool parents had recommended the church.

Then I put down Mark as the other parent on a form.  The pre-school teacher started back-peddling and babbling, and the next thing I knew, I was in the principal's office with The Child.

"Well," he said.  "This has never happened before.  I think I'd have to speak to my bosses before we can let your child attend.  It's really in the best interests of The Child for him not to attend [because we will let all the kids in a preschool for four year olds know that men who have sex with other men are going to Hell and The Child's family is damned and we don't want him to have go through hating his Devil Dads and being shunned as a sinner by the other kids]."

Since I didn't want to have a Scene or Educational Moment with The Child sitting there wondering when we were going to have lunch, I said.  "You know, I think there's been some mistake, and I should be somewhere else."

So Much for Hippy Eugene.  On a happier note, we found the right school, in a church a few blocks away from The Wrong Church.  We had to wait a few more months to get in, because A Child's Educational Application Process must start three weeks after conception if you want to get into the Yale Track.

On a slightly related note, around now I got a phone call from a UUCE member who was working on a sex-education panel for the UUCE youth.  She needed someone on the panel who had multiple sex partners and wondered -- since I was a gay man -- if I knew any gay men who would be willing to sit in on the panel.   No, she didn't realize the implied assumption that all gay men are sleeping around; Yes, she was suitably horrified when I pointed out what she was asking.   All in a Day's Work as Mr. Gay Resources at UUCE.  Sigh... I'd sort of hoped there might be gay spiritual men at this liberal, welcoming church.


December 2008.  My short story, "Up" (this was before the movie of the same name) was accepted at the (then) Whidbey Student Choice Award (now the Penn Cove Literary Award)    This was a cheery Wordos Holiday Story, where a socially isolated protagonist has to deal with the aftermath of a fatal family car crash.   My worries that I might be unconsciously trying to kill my family off were eclipsed by the fact that this was my second (professional rate) sale.


In terms of writing, 2008 was tough -- I was getting stories out into the mail, and although I was getting rejections more quickly than I had before, no one was buying.  The Whidbey sale helped me not feel like a "wanna-be has-been."

Feb 17, 2007.  New Moon.  After months and months of knowing I was a finalist, I received the news that I had placed Third in Writers of the Future!  I was going to LA for a week-long workshop.   I'd submitted twelve manuscripts over a four year period and it had finally paid off!


March 2007.  Having jump-started CUUPs at UUCE, I was encouraged to give a four-minute presentation at a local Interfaith gathering.   After a brief introduction Neo-Paganism, I lead a quick visualization of the four elements.   The presentation was well received, probably because I used my radio voice (someone  commented that I should make relaxation tapes).   The presentation resulted in a jump in CUUPs attendance.

I'm trying to find the exact date, but sometime around now the Rev. Carolyn Colbert retired from being the UUCE minister.   She'd been serving there for seven or so years, and everyone was used to her style.  With her departure, a search began, and various interim ministers took over the pastoral care of the church.   What I learned from this was that I'd been coming to UUCE to hear Carolyn's sermons, which I always found challenging.

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A year or two of being parents put the final nail in the coffin as far as our involvement with the gay community went.  Not that we were terribly active in gay community events after the Outdoor Club (a local LGBTQ hiking group) imploded, but we stopped hearing much or seeing our gay friends.   And then they began the exodus to Portland.

Sometime in the spring, I went to a Eugene LGBTQ Community building event, held at a local high school.  After listening to folks talk about self-esteem issues on the University of Oregon campus, lesbian dance parties, queer youth, and the logistics of building a Eugene Queer Resources Center, the question came up about community.  What did members of the LGBTQ community want to build for ourselves?

When I was my turn to speak I said, "Hi, my name is John and I'm a gay dad."  (pause for applause)  "My husband would be here, but he's at home caring for our child.  I'd like to remind planners that if you want to include more parents, many toddlers take a nap at this time [11 AM - 1 PM].   So, I have a question:  could the gay dads in the audience raise their hands?"  One other guy in a room of about a two hundred raised his hand.  "Thanks," I said, "that's kind of what I thought." ("But hooray for lesbian moms, too," an older woman across the aisle said encouragingly.)  I sat down.  The other gay dad disappeared by the time the meeting finished.

As Mark pointed out later, just because someone else is  a gay dad doesn't mean that we'd get along with them or want to hang out.  Which is true, but still....


May 2007.  I attended a wonderful local writers' workshop with Ellen Datlow.   She wasn't enamored with "The Colossus of Rhodes," but she did like "Sky Dance" (although apparently it's too much like, "Love is the Plan, the Plan is Death").


August 2007.  I flew down to LA for the Writers of the Future (WOTF)  workshop and awards ceremony.  Fellow Wordo Damon Kaswell had also placed in that year's volume, and we flew down together.   At the LA airport, some of my luggage got lost, which included my wedding jacket and shirt.

My roommate during the workshop was Tony Pi, the other half of the Canadian team which was in a friendly, unofficial contest with the Wordos to get into WOTF.  The workshop was like a giant Wordos marathon, only with more professional advice.

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What I learned was that I could pound out a rough draft of a 4000 word story in in less than 24 hours.  Writing it was scary, because we had to interview a stranger as a character prompt.  My stranger was a kind of homeless, down on his luck, hot-chocolate loving, fifty-something art-dealer theologian.

I could follow some of his rambly connections very easily and  throughout our conversation I kept thinking, "Oh crap; we sound like we've started in similar places and what do I need to do so I don't turn into some shabby, damaged prophet, mumbling a burnt-out vision to himself in the streets?"  Considering how this Ghost of Christmas Future kept sitting in the middle of the story I was feverishly trying to write, I'm amazed I produced any manuscript at all.

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What I learned is that writing is a business, and that there's a lot of competition.  Charles Brown sat  down with us, and the first words as he looked around the room were, "Out of the twelve of you sitting here, only one or two of you are going to make it."

This was followed later in the day by a moment where I overheard a hotel hallway conversation.  Another hotel guest asked a big name author who all the folks in tuxedos were (we were getting fitted).  And the author said, "This is part of the Writers of the Future contest; these folks are all writers."

"Oh! Writers!  And who are you?"  the guest asked.  "Are you famous?  Have I read you?"  I could imagine her reaching into her purse for a pen and pad to autograph.

The big name author told her who he was.  "I write science fiction and fantasy."

"Oh," she said, obviously let down he wasn't Stephen King, Tom Clancy, or John Grisham.  It was obvious she didn't read the genre and she'd never heard of the author before.

I let myself into my room, thinking, "And let this be a lesson unto you."

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I learned that it's good for my mental health to hang out and talk with other writers.

I learned I should have started banging out a novel as soon as I had heard the news I'd placed in WOTF so I could have a draft of the manuscript to hand out to various folks and agents.

I learned that KD Wentworth remembered "Briallan Dreaming of Myrmidons," "Skies of Dreaming," "Sky Dance," and "The Colossus of Rhodes" -- stories that had made it to semi-finalist status in previous years -- and we had a great conversation about writing, editing, and submissions.  The woman who had been a gatekeeper became a new friend.

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Mark and The Child came down for the ceremony, as did my parents.  The ceremony was kind of cheesy, but I loved it anyway.   And it was validating; instead of wondering what the heck I was doing, my family could now say, "Well, he's an award-winning author."

There was a lunar eclipse, which wasn't the most visible from the hotel, shining the the sky of LA.


Oct 2007.  Damon and I appeared briefly on the local TV station to talk about our stories in Writers of the Future.  It was part of a four month period of book signings up and down the Willamette Valley.  Damon and I had a lot of fun, and I learned how to hawk books.

Shortly afterward, I took a break from being the Wordos chair.  About four years prior,  Jerry Oltion wanted a break from running the Wordos meetings.  He called a meeting of various folks and because I was so consistent about attending that I got dubbed key-holder.  For the next couple of years, I was part of a triumvir consisting of Eric Witchey, Jay Lake and myself.  and then the next thing I knew I was facilitating the meetings.   And then gas prices went up  and folks from out of town stopped coming to Eugene for Wordos messages and for a while I was running things solo.  But I was done facilitating, and I took a break from the Wordos.


November 2007.  A particularly poorly attended CUUPs ritual was a wake-up call that the honeymoon with UUCE was over.  Clearly, I was doing something wrong, because I wasn't attracting a consistent core group of Neo-Pagans.

Neither Ronald Hutton nor Margot Adler clones had appeared for deep theological discussions or numinous moments.  Many women dropped out of CUUPs to pursue a multi-week, women-only, program entitled "Cakes for the Queen of Heaven."  And, while they were warmly interested, many of the regular Sunday going UUCE members were more focused on Neo-Paganism as part of a cultural diversity course.

Into this vacuum crept prosperity-focused folks, and before long we were having rituals about writing "prosperity checks" and "reclaiming your personal power."

Around this time UUCE hired a settled minister, who everyone had high hopes for, but who ultimately (to put it kindly) did not work out.   I'd thought, based on some of the things he had said, that he would engender a sense of wonder and worship with regard to the natural world; unfortunately, that never panned out.


November 21, 2007.  I had a fun time being a panelist at OryCon.  I had so much fun dancing Saturday night, I managed to get really sick.


December 2007.  For my 43rd birthday, Mark decorated the house as if it were Savoré ("Tea the Way It Used to Be").  He dressed up like a French waiter, put lovely linens on the tables, and served tea, sandwiches and petit fours.   At some point we realized The Child had pilfered quite a few petit fours and moved them to a higher table. 

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2007 was the Year of the Gay Pagan Writer.  It felt like my writing career was picking up, and even if Neo-Pagan events had fizzled a little at the end, the year started out strong.

Spring 2005

Mark and I joined Mark's family on a trip to Disney World!  I'd never been.  I'd say the coolest ride was the humungous water slide at Blizzard Beach.  OK, maybe Tomorrow Land.  No; it  was our meal at the French Pavilion at the Epcot Court.  Oh, wait... it was the giant tree in Safari World.  It was all good.

A week or two after we got back, Mark climbed up the ladder through the ceiling hatch to my writer's loft (we lived in a converted garage which had two ladders to attic living areas).

"Uh oh," I thought, "Mark's coming up here; he never does that.  This is really important."  I removed my hands from the keyboard and folded them in my lap.

"Want a kid?" Mark said....  The child would arrive in four or five months.  We spent the next months with a lawyer, arranging things.  Although I was not the mother, I compensated by dreaming that the child was born a gerbil.


March 2005.  I went to NorWesCon.   Although the drive up was daunting, it was lots of fun -- like OryCon, only much larger.  I had a great time being roommates with Jerry and Kathy Oltion, who were kind enough to introduce me to Gordon VanGelder.


June 2005.  I became a parent and the stay-at-home caregiver.  Since I was no longer employed, I got health coverage via Mark's work.  This was a taxable benefit, which would not have been a taxable benefit had we been a heterosexual couple.

My hat is off to any parent who has more than one child, and it's off twice to single parents.  I understand why nature has wired us to have children when we're twenty (or younger), because it's exhausting being a forty-something parent.  And yes, infants engage in chemical mind-control because The Child altered my biology so that my pee smelled like him and he fiddled with my artistic sense so that the Mother Pegasus saving the Baby Pegasus during the wind storm in Disney's Fantasia is the Most Beautiful Piece of Art Ever (sniff).

Oh. And men, it's true:  after your first child You Will Never Have Sex Again (mwha-ha-ha-ha-ha!).   OK; that's not entirely true:  you will have sex, but you will never have wild unbridled sex (assuming that you're awake enough to want it) without the nagging sense that the sex must be done before The Child wakes up and walks in on you.

The child's bio-chemical wizardry also activated our Dad Super-powers.   Mine was the ability to identify all threats to The Child in a half-block radius.  And to karate-chop overly-friendly German Shepherds.   Mark's was the ability to clear The Child's respiratory track by sucking up blocking mucus.

In addition to taking the night shift, learning to change diapers, and picking up baby sign-language, having a child brought societal roles as a gay, male, forty-something to the forefront.

First and foremost, was the Baby-Military-Industrial-Complex, which insisted that we brand The Child's gender with either Pink Flowers or Camouflaged Weapons.   Diapers were covered with cartoon characters for early indoctrination.  And we were extolled by The Fearful Parent Magazine to spend every waking second of our lives doing everything in our power to Enrich Our Child, to Super-Charge His Self-Esteem, and to Sterilize and Protect The Child from All Forms of Lurking Danger.

Being the stay at home male caregiver exposed me to:

• Over-praise as a Sensitive Father, 
• Pity as the Out Of Work Partner Doing Child Care,  
• and Suspicion as a man with a child.  
• (And accusations of being a grand-parent.)

I must have taken a break from Wordos.

I remember going to Scary Baby Reading Hour at the local library.  It was scary because most the other parents were 17 year old moms with tattoos who wore hip-hugger jeans showing off their thongs.  Presenters tended to speak  "helium voices."

I quickly bonded with "The Geriatric Parents' Club."  We sat in the corner and traded snarky comments with each other.


Sept 2005.  In a terrible blow to our social life and general culture in Eugene, Savoré, the premiere tea shop in Eugene, closed its salon an relocated to a tea retail shop at 15th and Willamette.   Savoré was our bar; Mark and I would frequently have tea and scones there on weekends.  We could call ahead and the staff already knew what we wanted to order.  I often would go there after work or after-work workouts and write.

Savoré had small tables with white linens, little tea lights, French music, and upholstered chairs.  Canisters of white, green, black and herbal teas lined the walls.  Wire sculptures of the Eiffel Tower adorned tables displaying various tea accessories.   Gilded mirrors hung on the dark red walls.  There had been two over-stuffed davenports, but these had been removed because undergraduates would take naps on them during business hours.

I learned to love rooibos, lavender, and ceylon tea there; once, when the shop's supplier switch plantations on them, I could taste the difference in the ceylon.

Eugene became more dowdy, frumpy and uncultured when Savoré closed.